For a certain cadre of cardigan-clad kids, saying "Robert Wratten" is a bit like
saying "Stephen Patrick Morrissey." As frontman for twee pioneers the Field Mice,
Bobby Wratten etched his name into indie-pop lore, authoring lovelorn'd songs
setting sentimental lyrics to summer-of-love-lovin' acid-ish beats and the jangliest
of jangling guitars. He entwined his voice with Annemari Davis, who joined the
band as an eager fan, and ended up being a defining part of their aesthetic — not
to mention seemingly serving as both muse and, subsequently, source of heartache
for Bobby. Over the years, Wratten has traipsed through Northern Picture Library — a
more melancholic, electronic carryover from Field Mice — and, now, Trembling
Blue Stars, the latter act an ever-evolving combo whose albums have veered from
exuberant gay-disco to hushed indie-strumming to Byrds-ian pop to dubbed-out
head-nodders to, of recent, a melancholy combo playing softly-stepping songs
for rainy days and Mondays. It's an evolution that has, curiously, gone strangely
undercelebrated — aside from, of course, those circles in which Wratten's
treated with total reverence. The 38-year-old has been essentially entwined with
Saint Etienne from day one, yet while his friends have managed to marry a cult-like
fanbase with a few flickers of grand overground success, Wratten has remained
largely underground. A recent re-release of the Field Mice's three albums has
gone a great way to redressing the definitions of history — the albums were
often unfairly maligned at the time — but, still, there's yet to be a Trembling
Blue Stars record to make the big crossover leap, despite the fact that there
was a long stretch where TBS were recording for Sub Pop. It'd be lovely if The
Seven Autumn Flowers, the outfit's fifth disc, were the one, but perhaps
it's time to be content in the fact that Wratten's audience is what it is; and,
preaching to the converted or no, the songsmith should be celebrated for what
he is, not what he's not. Such contentment seems to have been found by Bobby
himself, with this latest longplayer an album that, despite all its misty melancholy,
is filled less with lyrics of heartache, and more with words of warmth and romance,
Wratten softly singing sentimental sentiments like: "Holding you in the morning/
Listening to the rhythm of your breathing/ Feeling such a need/ You're everything
to me" and "I promise not to leave you/ But no one should promise that/ So I
just say 'I love you'/ all the days I can."
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